the ever-closing door behind the cigarette store

these people are dime a dozen but they hardly know how to smile and have little to no appreciation for the sweet sweet things in life like tomatoes or a good cup of coffee and how little the details get sometimes: a bit of sunlight blowing through the room, a tiny fleck of dew on the petal of a simple and unremarkable flower (yet notice how I remark about it still) and thatís how thatís how when people ask why I hardly get rattled about things thatís how because for most people, this life is the ever-closing door behind the cigarette store. Itís a list of things that they can see but never have dream but never do think but never believe---
itís true that I donít get all of my preferences fulfilled, itís true that I get hardly any at all most of the time, but hell, the door may be closing to the cigarette store, but look at all of this still open. I can walk streets under big arching streetlamps any time of day and sit in green grass anytime I choose or rest leaning against the shitty little rock sculpture in front of my place and so can you so can you, you mostly just donít bother noticing.
In ďTB sheetsĒ you hear a broken man watching his love waste away (how helpless he is) and I hear a man so lucky to have a love like her (for as long as he got/gets her) and a woman so lucky to have a love that stands by her until the end however bad it gets and I think thatís what makes the whole damn thing so interesting and lucky for each and every one of us.

2004-10-22 | 12:01 p.m.
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